Michael furiously dribbles the ball up the driveway and slides next to the hoop, delivering an impressive layup.
"Yes! 42-40," Michael says triumphantly.
"NOPE! No, that doesn't count, Michael," I retort. "You traveled big time a few seconds ago, and you know it."
"No, I didn't! That's what you always say! It's not fair!" Michael's eyes start to glisten, and I know that he's almost to the boiling point.
"UGGGHHHH! I am so sick of you saying you didn't do this, you didn't do that, when you DID! Brendon and Sean saw it too, right boys?" They nod their heads vigorously, and I turn back to Michael. "See? We all agree that you traveled. And that means that the score is definitely not 42-40. It's our ball."
Angry tears spill over Michael's cheeks, and he forcefully throws the basketball against the asphalt, causing it to catapult a good fifteen feet in the air.
"STOP IT! That's it. I quit. You are so immature!" I stalk into the house through the garage, intending to tell my mom all about Michael's poor sportsmanship and lack of self-control.
End of argument 29 out of hundreds of similar arguments.
My brother, Michael, and I never related well to each other while we were growing up. I always connected with his twin, Brendon, and of course, Sean was the baby of the family, so he and I got along fine.
I don't know what it was. He and I were always arguing, to the point where one of us cried and the other went and tattled about the incident to our mom.
Fast-forward six or seven years. I'm twenty, Michael is seventeen. Somewhere along the way, he and I have managed to make peace with each other. No unkind words have been uttered for some time. The dynamics of our relationship have completely changed. I look back to the old me and the old Michael, and I see significant differences in us now. Good ones.
I realized today, really for the first time, that I can talk to Michael about pretty much anything, and he will have something--helpful, mature, witty, whatever--to say in return.
For the first time in my life, I am on the same page with my brother, Michael. My relationship with him is all the more precious to me when I think about how we used to relate... and how far we've come from those awful accusations and derogatory statements.
"Yes! 42-40," Michael says triumphantly.
"NOPE! No, that doesn't count, Michael," I retort. "You traveled big time a few seconds ago, and you know it."
"No, I didn't! That's what you always say! It's not fair!" Michael's eyes start to glisten, and I know that he's almost to the boiling point.
"UGGGHHHH! I am so sick of you saying you didn't do this, you didn't do that, when you DID! Brendon and Sean saw it too, right boys?" They nod their heads vigorously, and I turn back to Michael. "See? We all agree that you traveled. And that means that the score is definitely not 42-40. It's our ball."
Angry tears spill over Michael's cheeks, and he forcefully throws the basketball against the asphalt, causing it to catapult a good fifteen feet in the air.
"STOP IT! That's it. I quit. You are so immature!" I stalk into the house through the garage, intending to tell my mom all about Michael's poor sportsmanship and lack of self-control.
End of argument 29 out of hundreds of similar arguments.
My brother, Michael, and I never related well to each other while we were growing up. I always connected with his twin, Brendon, and of course, Sean was the baby of the family, so he and I got along fine.
I don't know what it was. He and I were always arguing, to the point where one of us cried and the other went and tattled about the incident to our mom.
Fast-forward six or seven years. I'm twenty, Michael is seventeen. Somewhere along the way, he and I have managed to make peace with each other. No unkind words have been uttered for some time. The dynamics of our relationship have completely changed. I look back to the old me and the old Michael, and I see significant differences in us now. Good ones.
I realized today, really for the first time, that I can talk to Michael about pretty much anything, and he will have something--helpful, mature, witty, whatever--to say in return.
For the first time in my life, I am on the same page with my brother, Michael. My relationship with him is all the more precious to me when I think about how we used to relate... and how far we've come from those awful accusations and derogatory statements.
